


Putting the 'Pun' in Puncture Wounds

by Nanimok



Category: Naruto
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff without Plot, Humor, Izuna lives, M/M, Madara centric, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 16:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10971372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanimok/pseuds/Nanimok
Summary: Exactly what it says on the title.





	Putting the 'Pun' in Puncture Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I wanted to achieve with this fic, but have some fluff anyway. 
> 
> Beta'ed by queenie, [Holly](http://redhothollyberries.tumblr.com). Send her all the love <3

Peace takes hard work to manage. Tobirama showing Izuna mercy on the battlefield was the start of an idea built on shaky foundation, so it’s only fair that Madara takes the next step. He concedes to a peace treaty. After all, they couldn’t keep fighting against the Senju forever, not when the Senju Clan is the biggest driver in dwindling their fighting numbers.

Trying to integrate the Uchiha with the Senju after years of animosity and violence is not easy work. A hasty tiptoe between trust and dubiety.  Standing beside one another without going for their kunai. It’s going to take a catalyst to dissolve the hatred that’s brewed for years. It’s not going to disappear at once, no, it’s going to take some compromise. Maybe a miracle.

Naturally, it all starts with Madara.

There’s a precarious trust between him and Tobirama. A grudging, but mutual, respect. Enough for Hashirama to assign them on a mission together and expect them to come home intact. Slightly  battered by each other, sure, but undoubtedly alive.

After a whole week of awkward silences and snappish remarks, Madara almost breathes a sigh of relief when they encounter Iwa nin trespassing on their land. Four against two. Good odds for him and Tobirama. At least now, all he had to worry about was all the boulders chucked and the blades and projectiles threatening slicing his way—

—and towards Tobirama’s turned back.

Resolve set, Madara moves on instinct. He tiptoes away from the careful line he draws between Tobirama and himself, and jumps straight onto the blade headed towards Tobirama’s shoulder. It slides between the edges of his armour. It pierces through his chainmail and skin. Cold pressure and a slick sound. The metalling tang of fresh blood assaults his nose.

“ _Uchiha!”_

With both hands still on the blade, the Iwa nin grins— that _bastard—_ before streaks of blue lightning dances off his hands. His nerves screams. He wheezes before jerking. Acute pain blurs his eyesight.

Then his insides revolt. Chakra churns, gathers and builds. The warmth from his core blazes as he draws a tiny breath in.

And breathes a fireball out.

It consumes the Iwa nin, the boulder of red and orange sucking him in until all that Madara could smell was burnt flesh.

So much for taking them in alive.

At this point Madara’s sick of fighting. He retreats to long range jutsu as Tobirama systematically takes the rest down. He’s been hurt worse, but half of the metal and the handle is still sticking out of him. He can feel the blood soaking his midriff and feel the urge to pull the blade out of him, but he knows from years of training that pulling it out is a colossally bad idea.

A warm hand on his shoulder shakes him out of his sluggish thoughts. Tobirama guides him to sit down and lean against the base of a tree. He unseals a sack from one of his scrolls, and rummages through it with haste.

Madara really, _really_ wants to pull the blade out. His wound pulses, singing like a stinging challenge.

“Why did you do that?”

“What?” He pulls his gaze away from his torso. “Why did I do what?”

“Why did you jump in front of me?” Tobirama asks. “Why did you take that sword for when you could have just—”

Tobirama stops. His face doesn’t falter but his eyes scan Madara’s face for any sign of hostility, even as his hands continue to bring out a first aid kit from his sack.

A harsh laugh rips out of him, before he winces as his body screeches its protest. Because he knew what Tobirama was going to say. Madara doesn’t take any offense at all. Tobirama would’ve been a fool if he had not thought of it himself and Tobirama is anything _but_ a fool.

“That I’d leave you to the Iwa-nin and claim that your death was an accident?” Madara says wryly. “There’s this idea. This small, miniscule, idea called ‘peace’ that your brother and I’ve been working on—”

Tobirama snarls. “Don’t patronize me. Our treaty does not mean that it’s compulsory for acts of selfless heroics. Now I’m going to pull out the sword, and stitch you up using a medical jutsu as best as I can. It’s going to sting.”

Madara modulates his breathing as Tobirama wraps both hands on the handle. Carefully, he focuses on the stretch of his lungs as air comes in and out, even when his eyesight blurs and the feeling of cold metal—a sensation that’s so _foreign_ and so _intrusive—_ slides out of him.

He watches Tobirama’s palm glow green. A comforting sort of green. Not as dark or as deep as the plant stalks, but bright and saturated. He recalls of Hashirama’s boasts of Tobirama’s proficiency with medical ninjutsu, and feels infinitely glad that he’s the patient as opposed to being the person dealing with a bleeding man in the middle of a forest.

“My body acted on its own,” Madara explains.

Both of Tobirama’s eyebrows fly up.

Madara shrugs, before his twitches form the twinge of pain. “I promised Hashirama your safety.”

Disbelief etches deeper onto Tobirama’s features at such a simple explanation. That can’t be it, can’t it? Such a simple explanation, in a world where espionage is the seed of all motives, almost sounds stupid. Every intrinsic habit urges to keep digging, keep peeling back, because people and their actions are rarely this simple.

In this case, it absolutely is.

The loyalty and devotion between Hashirama and Madara is at its bare bones a simple thing. Right now, Madara’s motives is not something Tobirama can break any subject into clear, analytical pieces. Surely that’s an achievement worth noting.

Tobirama’s face is expressive, but not in the conventional way. Every emotion – every rage, confusion, judgement, surprise – it’s all in his eyebrows. The contortions Tobirama’s eyebrows are going through as he presses his palms near his torso is funny. Maybe this is how he handles shock. It’s a shame he’s absolutely rubbish at retaining any of the medical training he had when he was younger.

“Hashirama would be unbearable if I brought you home hurt,” he says. “He’d whine, and sulk, and whinge until I pull every strand of hair out. I don’t hate myself enough to subject myself to that.”

A frown twists down Tobirama’s mouth. “I thought you hated me.”

“ _Dislike_ you,” Madara corrects. “Heavily, daily and with fervour. I’d ask myself why, but you have a habit of sneering at everything I say—”

Tobirama rolls his eyes amidst his impromptu rant.

“—but I don’t _hate_ you.”

Tobirama peer from under his eyelids, dubious.

Madara rolls his eyes. “Look, I know you’re still not convinced of our treaty, and I respect you for that. You’ve got a healthy amount of paranoia. Hashirama and I—we get that this whole idea of a treaty is a bit radical. The amount of trust we’re asking of you is astronomical. The amount of trust Hashirama is putting on me by assigning this mission you is also, quite astronomical. Not only will Hashirama be upset if I bring you back less than perfect, but every cut is going to chip away at what we’ve built so far, even if I’m also injured.”

Because Madara’s the Head of Clan, considered to be above Tobirama’s station. Any wound inflicted onto Tobirama is going to reflect on people’s extrapolation of his ability to uphold the village’s treaty.

Rough, calloused hands slides on his face, and flips his palms over, checking for burns. “That’s oddly forthcoming of you.”

“To be honest, I did not expect to get stabbed.” Madara chuckles. “I guess you could say that was a bit of a shocker.”

Tobirama’s glare tells Madara that he’s one step away from choking him.

“Also, my torso is numb.”

Tobirama’s hands falters. “ _Daimyo’s sake_ , Madara. You have to warn me of these things.”

Madara likes to point out that even though he blurted his thoughts, he’s pretty detached from any sort of impulse control. His consciousness is a thin layer, concentrated on the pricking warmth Tobirama’s emanating from his palms.

There’s a point where sensation dulls and his torso feels more like a cold, thick, slab of meat attached onto him. Madara is there. The weight of gravity is tugging his skin down, his jaw feels slack and he squeezes his eyes in an effort to keep himself awake.

Honestly, he’s been hurt worse, but he hasn’t had any immediate treatment like this.

It’s nice.

Suddenly, the warmth at his middle stops. When Madara looks down, there’s new skin, pink and raw.

Tobirama shoves a purple mochi ball at him. “Have some. The sugar helps with the shock.”

Madara bites into it. The bitterness punches his gut until he’s wheezing. He swallows, resists the spasm as his body tries to regurgitate the mochi back out, and gives a weak smile.

“Hashirama made this, didn’t he?” he asks. At Tobirama’s nod, he chuckles. “I’d know this death brew anywhere. As if taking a blade for you is not enough, now you’re trying to poison me with Hashirama’s cooking.”

Tobirama looks stricken.

His grin crumbles under the weight of his guilt. “ _Sage_ , Tobirama. I was _joking —_ that was a _joke._ I don’t actually blame you. Stop looking like that.”

Tobirama’s brows furrows. “Like what?”

“Stop looking like a kicked puppy.”

“I’m not,” Tobirama protests, as he continues to look like a kicked puppy purely from his eyebrows alone.

Madara had really not meant to upset him. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I guess that joke was made in poor taste.”

Tobirama looks like he wants to undo all his hard work and run Madara through with the blade again. Madara laughs. He laughs at the exasperation on his face, even as Tobirama eyes the blade coated with his blood longingly.

And he thought Izuna lacked self-preservation instincts. But hey, they _are_ related.

 

* * *

 

Tobirama never held back his comments before, always a criticism or an insult poised at any opportunity, but now his retorts fly more freely at Madara. Somehow the impact hits less maliciously than before. Less cutting, more competitive, and more good-natured.

A grudging part of him realises that Tobirama’s actually a pretty funny guy. His dry sense of humour can rival his own. Everything about Tobirama; his demeanour, his stubbornness, his _face_ is so insult-able— Madara is usually witty, okay? Trust him on this—that talking to Tobirama is an exercise and a refreshment. Madara could have never imagined the tangents they veer off to in their conversations.

Seeing Madara and Tobirama around in the village being more than barely civil, has an astounding effect on the rest of Konoha. An Uchiha child is seen playing tag with other clan children — more importantly, with a Senju. Then a Senju is spotted training with an Uchiha. Then an Uchiha is seen eating _with_ a Senju at ramen stall.

The actions, these small instances, cascades until the wary line between differentiating Uchiha and Senju is still there, but it’s smudged.

Hashirama is ecstatic. Throughout the whole ordeal his eyes became shiny and doubled in size. He became a teary tree sap whispering words like hope and camaraderie and friendship.

Thus, his increasing number of missions with Tobirama. The other people accompanying them come and go, like a mix and match packet of sweets. Tobirama, however, is almost always a constant.

Then in one simple mission the smudged line becomes a blurred gradient. Not by redirecting the line of fire, or misguiding their enemies. No, Madara plonks himself right in front of wayward attack and becomes a human sponge. Again.

This time, Tōka is there to join them. This time, it’s for her that Madara’s body moves.

A water dragon dives towards the Senju while she’s twisting back and fighting off two others. Madara lands fits metres before the dragon hits and after a flurry of hand signs, slams his palms into the ground. A wall of earth, doubled his size in thickness and triple in width, rises from the ground.

But he miscalculate how forceful the water dragon was. Huge volumes of rushing water cages around him. Slowly, he could feel the wall giving way. The base of the earth wall cracks and his stomach drops from the dread.  Madara charges chakra to string the wall the together under the pressure of the water dragon.

The last thing he wants is for the wall to crumble and big chunks of his wall to get carried backwards as projectiles.

All at once, the crack travels through the plane of the base. The full weight of the wall slams into him, hitting his forehead in the process so hard, his head rebounds back.

_Shit._

His eyes blur, his head pounds, and the water almost overwhelms him. But he soldiers on, buckles his body against the raging force of the water.

Until everything suddenly stops, and momentum drives him forward. He unsticks himself from the wall immediately.

He looks around to see that all their enemies are unconscious, but their bodies are spinning together. His stomach is in danger of upheaving itself. The trees are rushing like table top spinners.

“Nobody saw that,” Madara orders. “If anyone asks, I did not get hit by my own jutsu, I got hit face first by a respectable A-class jutsu like most high-ranking shinobi do.”

“How dare you!”

Tōka strides up to him, shaky with her anger and pulls his down to her eye level using his collar. Her sharp eyes glint in the sunlight. If there is any mercy in this world, she will not shake him.

“How dare you take that jutsu for me?!” She jerks him closer and, _woah,_ her words jab at his head like a needle. “How dare you make yourself remotely likeable in my eyes?!”

Madara snorts at her glower, before chuckling. “Izuna’s right. Being in your presence leaves one absolutely lightheaded.”

Her mouth drops open in a gape, before closing in order to decide how to react. Madara wonders if expressive eyebrows is hereditary in the Senju family. Thankfully, Tobirama comes into view, smelling of damp leaves and sweat. The comfort that rushes him distracts him from the movement of walking, sitting and leaning against a tree.

A glowing green palm comes into view, before his hand brushes his hair back. There is no pricking sensation, Tobirama is probably only using a diagnostic jutsu, but the warmth is oddly nostalgic.

“Is this a convoluted way to say that you have a concussion?” Tobirama asks. “Because you’re not half as funny as you think you are.”

Madara throws him a smirk, before leaning his head back. “Yes, I am. Your lips twitched.”

Tōka folds her arms, but Madara’s not fooled. He can read the worry in her thinned lips.

“You weren’t joking about before were you, Tobi?” she mutters. “Or his cringe inducing humour.”

“I’m a funny guy, okay?” Madara defends himself with a slurry of thick words. “I was washed off my feet by your impressive show of strength. I’m star-struck Or wall-struck. Whichever’s more accurate.”

“You’ll be fist-struck if you don’t stop soon.”

“I believe that’s called punching, Tōka-nee, the word you're looking for is punching. And it's highly inadvisable since Madara’s got a concussion.” The glowing stops, and Tobirama his arm over his shoulder to lift Madara up. “The best way forward is bedrest when we reach Konoha. No punching till Madara gets bedrest.”

Madara already expected Tobirama to help him on his way home. A silent agreement that because they were friends, as he and Tōka were not, Tobirama would be the one to lug his concussed ass home. He leans into him, savouring the warmth and the double play firm muscles under a layer of soft coat that supports him.

He is surprised, to say the least, when Tōka takes over halfway. She’s shorter than Tobirama, but her hold is just as gentle and equally firm.

Hashirama will definitely cry at this development.

 

* * *

 

“I am not an incompetent shinobi. I swear I’m not,” Madara mutters under his breath. He inspects the senbon holes pricking into neat rows and columns, up and down his arm. “I’m just having abysmal luck right now.”

Another sunny day finds Madara sitting in a consultation room. With the curtains of the window pulled closed. Because after getting treated like a pincushion during his training session with Izuna, he’s not in a very indulgent mood, even if it’s towards a natural and omnipotent forces like sunlight.

Hashirama is sitting on chair beside the bed Madara’s sitting on, reading a small novel that has too much flowers on the front cover for it to be anything but leisurely. He hasn’t looked up once from all of Madara’s grumbling.

“Here’s a thought; if you’d just stop staring at Tobirama’s butt, maybe you wouldn’t get stabbed so much.”

Madara splutters. “I’ve— _never —_ I have _not._ I wasn’t even sparring with him today! _”_

“Omniscient crystal ball, remember?” Hashirama flips a page, not even fazed by Madara’s stutters. “I wanted to see what you and Tobi were up to. Imagine my surprise when I saw you _stumbling_ during a practice fight with Izuna when Tobirama walked by. Over your own foot. After fifteen plus years of agility training,”

“How—” Madara flushes, mind racing at the thought that Hashirama’s right and what that meant— “Right. Crystal ball and all.”

“On one hand, _gross,_ that’s my little brother you’re having inappropriate thoughts over. On the other hand, it’s _great_ since if you two decide to get married, we’ll officially be brothers in the eyes of the law.” Hashirama sighs, a dreamy sigh that clouds his eyes and makes Madara wary. “A prominent Senju and a prominent Uchiha married in union. Just think about the solidarity it will encourage in the village.”

Ah of course, Hashirama’s not that sentimental that he would forget the benefit it could hold for the village.

But the pace of this conversation is tripping Madara. “Marriage? Why are you speaking about marriage? Your brother and I have just started getting along.”

“It’s all about the possibilities, Madara. I’m talking years into the future. Tobirama smiles and laughs more around you, after you took that hit for him. Honestly, I haven’t seen like react like that to anyone since, well, _ever_ . And the last time I’ve seen _you_ act like this was when you had a crush on _me_.”

Madara cringes. “Don’t talk about that. _That_ _never happened.”_

Hashirama laughs, delighted. “Of course! You tend to stare, like _a lot_ , and then you’d get all blushy and red when we’re blocking our swords up close—”

“Nope. Don’t remember it. Pretty sure I was red from exertion. That era of my life is banned from existence. I was under the control of puberty and everything was against my will.”

Denial and Madara are well acquainted with each other. It’s nice to welcome an old companion back.

Hashirama’s lips curl in a way that screams devious. “I guess I can’t hog _all_ your blushing, and riverside meetings and the staring to myself—” He leans sideways to dodge pillow smacking the wall beside him, then he bursts into laughter. That asshole.

“Go back to work, you blithering oaf. Pretty sure you don’t have a break at —” Madara checks the clock, “—two pm.”

Caught, Hashirama stands from his seat. “Self-imposed break. It’s important to take care of yourself, you know.” Hashirama slams his book shut and heads towards the door. “Besides, I can feel Tobirama coming and I’ll leave you two to your quality time. Try not be too much of stammering mess while you’re trying to impress Tobi, okay?”

Hashirama hurries and leaves before Madara could retaliate. Good, because Madara really doesn’t want to pay for any property damage.

A second later, Tobirama strolls through the door.

“I hope you’re ready to run the village,” Madara tells Tobirama. “Your brother dies today.”

“You say that most days,” Tobirama says. “The threat has lost its effect.”

“I’m being a hundred percent serious right now. I’ve sharpened all my blades. I’m ready to fight.”

Tobirama almost smiles. Almost. “You’re always ready to fight. I don’t feel intimidated at all. Face it, it’s time to try something new.”

If anyone were to describe the role that Tobirama plays into Konoha’s structure, they would struggle with just a few words. Tobirama’s got his fingers in pretty much anything and everything. He flitters in and out departments, sometimes overseeing, sometimes participating. It's a well known fact that someone at some point was probably taught something by Tobirama.

Madara suspects it’s because Tobirama hasn’t really decided which department he permanently wants to join yet. Any other person, and this kind of leniency would not be tolerated. But since it's Tobirama and he's one of the key contributors in devising the infrastructure, every department is overjoyed to have someone with Tobirama’s combination of diligence, mental plasticity and knowledge. Even if Tobirama is only there temporarily.

Grabbing the wooden clipboard on his bedside table, Tobirama scans the papers, signalling for Madara to hold one of his arm out for inspection.

Madara complies. “I really don’t see why you insists for a check-up. I’m _fine_.”

“I see plenty of small holes on your arms that could probably spell the word ‘fine’ when rearranged, but is definitely not _fine_ ,” Tobirama says. With his other hand, he hands Madara the clipboard.

Madara frowns. “Is this a graph—you graphed the proportion of aimed projectiles that’s successfully wounded me for the past year?”

“And did you notice the worrying linear-bordering-on-polynomial growth within the last three months?” Tobirama demands. “Keep up, Uchiha.”

“Chance, I swear. Chance alone.” Madara’s bottom lip is on the verge of poking out. “I don’t know if I should be offended or flattered. But I get it, I’ll try to be more careful. You didn’t have to dedicate so much time to draw a graph about it.”

“Don’t be silly, of course I do. It only took ten minutes, anyway. Points are better made when accompanied by numbers.”

“You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“I’m an asshole who’s _right,_ ” Tobirama corrects. “You need to address whatever’s detrimental to your focus before it becomes fatal during a mission.”

Madara groans. “I told you I will. This is a just a bad streak. I’ll be extra vigilant from now on, and if it all goes bad again, I’m sure I’ll be fine — I got you there, haven’t I?”

Madara doesn’t know what deity is driving him to say this, but he never seems to have full control of his tongue around Tobirama. So he tilts one side of his mouth for smile and hopes that’s to hide this measly fact.

“Yeah,” Tobirama says, grudging, with the tiniest bit of a smile. “Yeah, yeah. You got me.”

This close, where it’s just him, Tobirama, the silence, and Tobirama’s growing palm on his arm, there is nothing to distract his attention but Tobirama.

It’s towards the end of a work day, and Tobirama doesn’t look the slightest bit scruffy in his thinner blue robe. Unfair, really, how good he looks when everyone else tends to self-combust during the work day. The hollow dip of his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing, the curve of his bottom lip. There’s a small split on his lip, making a tiny bit of his lip puffy and red—

Oh Sage, he’s _staring_.                                    

Then, it’s only because he’s hyper-aware that he notices how the rumble of Tobirama’s voice makes warmth curl in his lower belly and the rest of his body shivering and clenching towards itself from the heat discrepancy. Then the warmth travels up and down until it tingles his toes, and he realises he’s blushing.

He’s _blushing._ He was staring a minute before and now he’s _blushing_.

He’s going to absolutely _kill_ Hashirama for making him notice these things.

Tobirama catches his eyes. He frowns. “Something wrong with my face?”

Madara snaps backwards slightly. “No. Nope. Nothing. Nothing at all.”

The small raise of his eyebrows means that Tobirama is swallowing a smart reply. And Madara hates that he knows that Tobirama is swallowing a smart reply from just how his eyebrows move.

“Fire ferrets on a stick.” Madara flops back onto the hospital bed when Tobirama leaves to get some extra bandages. “I’m in too deep.”

 

* * *

 

He shouldn’t joke about getting ambushed and potentially dying a fifth of the time they run a simple courier or escort mission, but it’s so common that it becomes a routine, and the best way to make routine marginally better is with a sad punchline.

In all seriousness, Madara has suggested many times to Hashirama to simply capture them all to interrogate before sending their bodies back to their respective clans as a message as to not impose on their territory.

He forgets that a quarter of Hashirama’s advisers are civilians until he sees the horrified look on their faces. Censuring his thoughts to civilians is troublesome work, but it is needed to inspire some good relations between them.  

Having to hold himself back made him painfully aware of how short fused his patience is. And how lacking his control is when it came to disarming techniques, instead of striking to kill. Maybe this is one of the root causes of Madara’s lack of dodging recently. His hesitation in simply slashing all his enemies’ throats.

Although, he’s not really sure how successful Tobirama has been with disarming anyway. They both tend to overlook any kind of mercy once the other is hurt. It’s the effort that counts, he supposes.

He doesn’t see red when Tobirama is slammed across the field and hits a tree so hard, the bark snaps under him. No, instead a crystal clarity settles in his vision, working in tandem with the Sharingan to abuse every fault and joint in the enemy’s stance.

Howls of pain, snappy movements, and the satisfying squish of metal sinking on skin later, they’re nothing more than groaning bodies on the ground. Madara rushes to Tobirama. Tobirama struggles to sit up straight, and Madara slides an arm to stabilise him. He slides a palm onto Tobirama’s cheek to stop his head from nodding.

He turns his head sideways, checking for other damages other than some new scratches on Tobirama’s head-plate. Tobirama’s red eyes are blinking, bleary, unfocused.

“Tobirama, are you okay?”

“I’m dying.”

Madara chokes on his spit. “ _What_?”

“I’m dying,” Tobirama says. “I’m certain I’ve developed a concussion. My head is killing me. More than flying into that tree did.”

Panic swells in him, until his chest feels like bursting. “Shit, Tobirama. _Shit._ I’ve had zero medical training–we need to get you home— _now_. Like, right now.”

Tobirama gives out a shaky laugh. “Because brother will be upset?”

“ _No—_ I mean yes, your brother will be upset, but you’re _hurt—_ ”

Tobirama blinks at him, slow and sluggish. “It’s just a concussion.” 

Oh man, Madara knows it’s bad because Tobirama’s slurring his words when Tobirama’s usually articulate even in his sleep. Then he smiles, an uneven, loopy smile.

Madara’s taken aback by how dopey it looks. Tobirama’s got to be in a lot of pain.

Madara barely realises the muscle between his neck and shoulders cramps slightly, an uncontrollable twitch and urge to curl in. His eyes follows the line of Tobirama’s arm. It turns out, a senbon had been buried there, enough for half of it to be red.

Tobirama huffs out a laugh, sounding pleased, before chucking the senbon away. “Always said you’ve got a prickly personality.”

Madara frowns. “You’re not funny at all.”

“I think I’m funny. I think I see where you’re coming from—these sort of jokes are ten times funnier when one’s in pain.”

“You’re _hurting_ right now—and you’re still _insulting_ me? Unbelievable.” Although, there’s comfort in knowing that Tobirama’s still capable of making smart comments. Once that ability is gone, is when they’re in the red zone.

He turns and slides Tobirama on his back for a piggy back. It’s faster to run this way, Tobirama, although taller, is built leaner and lighter than he is. It’s easier to keep Tobirama stabilised this way. He’s not going to mention how keeping him close will stop him from crawling out of his skin. Maybe later he will.

He really need to pick up some medical training when he gets back to Konoha.

“Not pleasant being the one worried, is it?” Tobirama mumbles against his neck. His eyelids are half-closed, breaths tickling his skin.

The pure snark in that comment makes him smile “I imagine—no, I _know_ it’s not fun being the one hurt. But I get your point. I seem to say that a lot around you, don’t I?”

“Because I’m right,” Tobirama replies, voice dozy with sleep. “And I had to go through this _twice._ I request compensation for the worry I’ve had to endure. Compensation in the form of a date. With food and stuff.”

“Food and stuff?” Madara repeats, incredulous. “Do you even realise what you’re saying right now? You’re head’s probably trying to roll off your shoulders.”

“It is,” Tobirama assures. “Oh, it definitely is, but I’m not saying anything that’s untrue.”

Tobirama’s words summons a bout of fluttering inside him. And it’s not induced by the churning of his chakra. To be honest, he’s thought about it, and he’s already planned to ask Tobirama anyway in the near future. He doesn’t really know what it entails to be dating anyone, but with Tobirama he sees himself being up for anything. Anything, as long as he gets to talk and laugh with Tobirama for as long as he wants to.

He can work with this.

Madara gives a comforting squeeze to where his hand is carrying Tobirama’s thigh. “No need to be as hasty as a hare,” he says. “Get some rest. Get better, and then you’ll get your date.”

 

* * *

 

They arrive at Konoha and Tobirama gets his rest. After he’s all better and his head is cleared, Tobirama gets his date. Complete with food and stuff.

Then Tobirama gets to laugh, for ten minutes straight, when he finds out about Madara’s reluctant crush towards Hashirama. His whole face is red, almost matching his eyes, by the time he gets his breathing under control.

Madara is red too, but for a completely different and mortifying reason.

At the end of the night, Madara is delighted to find that Tobirama’s jokes are as cringe-worthy as his.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope the fight scene wasn't too bad. Feedback is always appreciated :)
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://fatcatsarecats.tumblr.com)


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